


Lady Winchesters

by badfanfictionaire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Genderbending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:03:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1325923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badfanfictionaire/pseuds/badfanfictionaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[This is basically going to be a collection of not super related drabbles.]<br/>AU: Sam and Dean are born female. For the fun of it I might give some of the other characters gender swaps too. (Hopefully that's not too confusing...)<br/>Meet Deanna and Samantha Winchester, the lady Winchesters!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rise and Shine

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find this fic on fanfiction.net, same title & username!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dee & Sam have to get up early for a case, some sisterly bonding ensues.

“Rise and shine Sammy. We’ve got a case to work on here!”  I watched Sam jump out of bed into a standing position in one fell swoop, arms bent and fists curled out of habit.  “Easy there tiger, it’s just me. Come on, let’s get moving.”

Her eyes blinked and she looked at me, finally more awake.  She reached up and brushed her bangs from her face, sighing, shoulders slouching. “Dee, it’s so freaking early, do we have to leave for Michigan right this very second?”

“The early hunter gets the demon Sammy, and we’re the early hunters.”

I sat on the pull-out couch and started digging through my bag for a clean tank top.  Not finding one I grabbed the least stained one I could see and pulled it over my head, simultaneously slipping my tee shirt off.  Across the room Sam was sitting on the foot of the bed pulling a comb through her hair.  Satisfied that it was de-knotted she swept it back into a messy bun and pinned her bangs back.  She glanced over at me, “Do you want me to french braid your hair, we have time...”

I pulled my socks on, “Sammy, what’s the point?  Who am I trying to impress?”

She rolled her eyes and got up, stepping into a pair of worn out jeans.  “You are  so self deprecating it isn’t even funny Deanna.  I was just asking to be nice, you could just say no thank you.”

Realizing I had hurt her feelings I tossed her my hairbrush, “Fine have at it, but like I said there’s no point.”

She wrinkled her nose at me and stuck her tongue out.  She came over to the side of the pull-out and commanded me to turn so my back was to her.

“So what’s the deal in Michigan? I thought we ganked the demon yesterday, did Bonnie get a tip that we might have gotten hijinxed or something?”

“Nah, something even better.  Apparently whatever we killed yesterday was a head member of some clan.  They’ve been running home in swarms since then, we’ve got them right where we want em’.”

“Great, so we go and rig an exorcism on some sort of loudspeaker, we can get them in droves if they’re all in the same building.” She patted me on the shoulder, “All set. Hey, can we we stop and get breakfast? I’m starving.”

I reached up and felt Sam’s handy work, impressed that she had a knack for getting my hair to stay tightly braided even though it was fine and usually slipped out of an elastic.  “Yeah of course, there’s bound to be a diner on the way.” 

She nodded, putting my brush back in my bag and zipping it closed.  “You ready to go?”

“Ready when you are.”

She smiled, “Can I drive?”

I slung my back over my shoulder and headed out the door, “Not a chance.”


	2. Ragdolls and Rafters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy and Dee find themselves in a sticky situation, and Sammy tries her best to save her big sis. But can she save the day, or will she fall short and need Dee's help after all?

A searing pain was attacking both of my wrists when I came around.  I blinked furiously, trying to clear my vision.  I didn’t like what I finally saw.

In front of me Dee was laying face down, limbs twisted in uncomfortable ways.  There was blood trickling down her temple and caking in her hair, staining it crimson.  Her shirt was torn and she was missing both shoes.  “Dee?” I croaked my throat full of dust.  

We were in a barn I realized.  I was hanging from a thick rope that was tied to my wrists on one end and the rafters on the other.  “Deanna, you still with me?” I called again.  No response.

I glanced around looking for something sharp to cut the rope with and saw my only option was a broken shovel about a yard out of my reach.  I had a feeling if I swung myself I might be able to drag it closer with my toes, but it was going to be painful in this position.

“Well here goes nothing,” I muttered, realizing after that I was talking to myself.  I started kicking my legs to get myself moving and then I swung them in unison.  Pointing my toes like a ballerina I aimed for the shovel’s curved handle.  Strike one.

I tried again; holding my weight on an angle as I swung so one toe was lower to the ground.

Strike two.

“Damnit!” I grunted, swinging myself for the third time, feeling the rope dig its splinters into my skin.  My toe grazed the handle; I was closer than the last time.  On the fourth time I was able to drag it just a bit closer, but I was going to have to get the handle over my boot if I wanted to pick it up.

On the fifth swing I got it over my foot.  From there I wedged it between my knees and then shimmied the end with the crooked blade so it was facing up towards my face.  The problem was going to be getting the sharp edge closer to my arms.  I thought about it for a moment and realized the only way I was going to accomplish this was if I could swing my legs and the shovel up to my head and stay in a crunch position long enough to saw myself free.  After that I was lucky if I didn’t fall and impale myself.  I hung there feeling defeated, the rusty shovel laughing in my face.  Looking over at Dee, still crumpled on the floor, I started to cry.  

My biggest fear had always been that this would happen, that I would let us both down because I couldn’t save her. It was why mom never wanted us to hunt if it was just the two of us together.  “Two girls, hunting together? That’s asking for trouble, you don’t have the power to free yourselves in a dangerous situation.”  She'd always insisted we take her for an extra set of hands, or find a guy to tag along with.

But Dee and I were stubborn, we'd fought her tooth and nail to let us go on our own. 

And now? Well we were on our own whether she liked it or not.  

And after all that, she was going to be right.  We were going to die here because I couldn’t set us free when we needed to get out of danger.

I heard a soft cough from below and held my breath.

"Dee?" I said softly.

"Sam..." She coughed, trying to clear the dust from her throat, "What happened...?"

"The ghost slammed you over the head with a wheelbarrow... Christ I thought you were dead..." Fresh hot tears stung my face.  

Deanna rolled painfully onto her side and looked up at me. "You?"

"He had a partner; apparently the dead wife isn't too happy about us either. She hung me out to dry and I guess she figured I'd die eventually here..."

"You're bleeding." She pointed at my leg where my pant leg was ripped clean up one side and covered in blood.

I pointed a toe at the rusty and crumpled oil drum by the door, "They may or may not have tried to shove me in that thing."

"Sammy..."

"Dee I'm fine, I'm really fine. I just have to get down and get us out of here."

"Let me help," she tried to get up and cough painfully, clutching her side.

"Just stay there!"

"Damnit Sam, I'm getting you down from there." She closed her eyes and heaved herself off the ground, legs buckling and threatening to give way as soon as she stood, but she caught her balance. "Kick me the shovel."

"Dee..."

"Samantha, kick me the shovel. I'll be okay a lot faster once you're not dangling like a rag doll from the rafters."

I bit my lip and swung my foot so the shovel went toward Deanna.  Feebly she grabbed it and started to saw through the rope holding me up.

Fifteen minutes later we were both sitting on the hay covered concrete, out of breath and bloodied.

"You okay little sis?"

"I told you I was fine Dee; I was going to get you..."

"It's not your job to save me; it's my job to save you. I'm the big sister, that's what I do."

"But I..."

She cut me off and patted me on the shoulder, "It’s okay, Sam. It's going to be a-okay."


	3. Men and Scotch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dee & Sam meet one of Bobbi's friends, Dennis, who doesn't take girl hunters as seriously as Dee thinks he should.

Bobbi had called us with a case out in Pensacola.  There was an old kindly hunter up there named Dennis that she told us was going to fill us in once we arrived.  It had something to do with a fresh batch of skinwalkers, but she wasn’t quite sure of all the details.  We promised her we’d be okay and headed off in the impala.  It was a six hour drive but Dee has a thing about planes so of course there was no other option.  By the time we pulled up at Dennis’ house my legs were screaming with cramps and my butt was numb from sitting so long.

I hoisted myself out of the car and stretched a little, then followed my sister to the door.

A red faced man with a soul patch greeted us merrily when we rang the doorbell.  “Well you must be the Winchester girls,” he marveled, “My my, too pretty for two hunters, that’s all I’ve got to say.”

Deanna gave him a big sunny smile and shook his hand firmly, "I'm Deanna and this is my sister Sam."

I extended a hand forward and smiled.

"Nice to finally meet you Sam," he said shaking my hand warmly.

Dee elbowed me in the side sharply, but it was too late, I was already opening my mouth. "Samantha, if you don't mind. She's the only one who gets away with Sam."

Dennis nodded in agreement though I could tell he didn’t really understand my request.

I could feel Dee grimacing beside me, but there was no way I was going to let him call me that. It was bad enough Dee did it, I always felt like a middle school boy when she did. But I tolerated it from her and her  only .

If we hadn't been meeting a nice gentlemen I would have called her Dean just to piss her off, but I kept my mouth shut, saving it for later.  She doesn’t like to be reminded that mom and dad named her after our grandfather because she doesn’t like the name Deanna as it is, and it doesn’t make it any better knowing it was originally a man’s name.

Dennis ushered us inside and as we entered the foyer Dee kicked me in the back of the knee as a friendly reminder not to embarrass her.  I responded by pinching her arm which earned me a dirty look and probably would cause some major fuming in the car later.

Once inside Dennis lead us into his living room.  We took a seat on his big floral sofa and waited for him to fill us in.  I saw Dee’s eyes light up when he pulled out a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black, but they quickly dimmed when he only took out one glass.  It’s really stupid but most people are surprised to find out that a girl like Dee can hold her liquor like a sailor.  I on the other hand end up being the designated driver a lot, so I don’t care for Scotch as much as she does.

The entire time we were talking with Dennis he kept refilling his glass without asking if we wanted any.  Dee’s eyes flickered angrily every time but I kept nudging her, a reminder to keep quiet.  There was no reason to piss off a fellow hunter over a glass of hard liquor.  But I knew I was going to hear about this in the car.

And sure enough, on the way down Dennis’ driveway, Dee was already ranting about men and how they’re such pigs.

“It’s a man’s world,” I told her, “And we just happen to be stuck in it, and saving its ass once in a while.”

She snorted a laugh and we kept driving in silence.  I couldn’t help but wonder if this job would really be any easier if we had been two brothers, but something told me my answer was ‘probably not’.


	4. Latin and Daydreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam does some research, Dee imagines how she wishes her and Sam's lives had turned out.

** Author's Note: There doesn't seem to be too much interest in this story so far, is there any requests/suggestions on what I could add/change to make it better? I'd love your feedback! Thank you so much to those who have been reading thus far, and leaving kudos, I appreciate it! **

 

 

Sammy’s lying in bed thumbing through a few half translated pages of lore we discovered earlier.  It’s almost 11:30 and I’m stretched out on the couch.  I’m not much help with things that are still partly in Latin anyhow, so I’ll wait until morning for Sam to fill me in.  

In the meantime I’m daydreaming.  I’m trying not to make myself teary eyed over the image in my head of Sam and Jesse together.  

 

They’re holding hands and I’m waving to them as they walk to the car with “just married” in white on the back window.   Sammy looks so pretty in her dress.  Her hair is done up in these pretty curls.  She’s holding a bunch of tiger lilies or something.  Jesse is all well groomed and fine in his tux, holding Sam’s arm and helping her down the steps...

 

I push the thought out of my head and roll over onto my stomach, glancing at the TV and back at Sam whose eyes are beginning to get heavy with sleep.  She’s been like this forever.  Not willing to sleep until she’s done with whatever task’s at hand.

 

I only have one more page left.  Sam’s whining at me but I pick up her book and carefully tuck an old receipt in to hold her place.  “Tomorrow Sammy, you can finish it during breakfast.  Her little face pinches up and she crosses her arms.  “It’s not fair! Dee!”  I lean over and kiss her on the nose, “Goodnight grumpy pants, sleep tight.”  Before I can even turn off the light her little eyes have fluttered closed...

 

I glance at the clock; it’s only 11:35.  Sam swipes at her eyes and flips another page over.  “Almost done?” I ask sympathetically.

“Eh,” she shrugs, “I’m getting there, still a few things I can’t quite translate.”

“You could....”

“Do it tomorrow,” she finishes, but she’s shaking her head no.  “You can put the lights off; I’ll go finish in the lobby and come back...”

I cut her off, “No, Sam.  You just finish up here, that’s okay.”

She gives me a sleepy smile and goes back to reading.

 

“Dee, I can sit in the car by myself!”  Sam’s got her hands on her hips and one foot up on the floor of the car, prepared to climb back in.  I’ve got my hand on her arm, pulling her with me into the store.  “No Sammy, come on.  You can’t be out here by yourself and I’ve got to take a leak.”

She’s almost going to cry so I let her arm go and start digging around in my backpack for a lollypop.  “Dee, I can do it, I’m a big girl...” Her eyes are starting to get puffy, we’ve had this fight before and she’s getting more upset each time.  But she’s only eight and there’s not a chance in Hell I’m letting her sit out here alone, even for a few seconds. It’s my job: watch Sammy.   I hand her the lollypop and offer her a hand.  She takes the bribe, unwrapping the pop and taking my hand.  After shoving the candy into her mouth she drags a sticky hand across her face, wiping her tears.  She glances up at me; her bangs are stuck to her forehead and dangling into her gaze.  “Next time can I stay?” she shoves at her hair with a sticky hand.  It will be years before I can convince her to pin the stupid things back with a clip.  “Maybe Sammy, maybe next time...”

 

“You want the lights off?” Sam’s staring at me, the papers rested neatly on her knees.  She’s done reading.  One hand is resting on the light switch and her free hand is twirling her hair around her finger.  Her bangs flopping lazily over one eye.  Something just never change...

“Yeah, thanks,” I reply.

She turns the lights off and I roll over and try to fall asleep.  “Goodnight Sammy.”

“Night, Dee.”


	5. Pretty & Complex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam wishes Dee could see herself the way she sees her.

I wish I could explain how good of a person Dee is and how strikingly pretty she is and how that’s all you’d ever know if you just met her once. She’s complex so it’s hard to explain.  And she thinks so lowly of herself, but I have a hard time convincing people she’s borderline clinically depressed, because she only lets me see her sadness.

 

When we were little mom used to treat her like a princess. And Dee, for a while at least, ate it up.  She was like a mini mom, they even looked alike, and there was very little tension between them.  When mom left us alone I referred to Deanna as my mom and I envied her, I thought she was so far above me.  On the flip side, she treated me like her pity case.  She was constantly taking care of me and it weighed on her.  We were in no way equals.

 

I never really noticed how much different Dee is now from then until after I came back from college.  I’d noticed the little differences before I left, sure, but the whole picture hadn’t hit me until I’d been away for a little while.  Up until I’d left we’d had the small dynamic changes because I was big enough to be on my own and she was growing sick of mom making her drag me around, but that was all it was, a small shift in dynamic.

 

I remember our conversation in the car after she picked me up at Stamford.  Uncomfortable like talking to a stranger you’d like to get to know, but who doesn’t want to know you.  It was clear she had one thing on her mind: find mom and from there figure out who killed dad.  Taking me back under her wing was not in the pages.

 

“So… How are things?”

No response, she just looked at the road ahead.

“You’re hair looks cute, I like it styled like that…”

She snorted, shaking her head… “Get used to it Sammy, big sis isn’t muss and fuss…”

 

She’d never been much for fashion; I knew that, I was just making small talk. But, she’d almost taken my compliment as a jab, it caught me off guard. As I would learn she really didn’t care about herself and didn’t think anyone else should bother, so tossing blank compliments at her only fueled the fire...

Before I’d left home her curly and not-quite-naturally-blond hair was always raked back in a loose ponytail, long and carefree.  But somewhere along the way, like I said, she stopped wanting to be just like mom.  Staring at her in the driver’s seat that day was the first time I’d  really noticed, she had shoulder length wavy hair that was a much more dirty and natural blond than it used to be.  It made her look more like my sister and less like my second mother, and I wanted that to mean she was more relatable, but that wasn’t the case.  It took a good year before she let me back into her life all the way, and even still she thinks of me as her’s to take care of and not an equal.

 

“ Do you want to know about school? You haven’t met Jesse, you’d love him…”

“I don’t think so Sam, now’s not the time.”

School was a touchy subject, I guess, she was still mad at me for leaving.  “When did mom give you the car?”

This gained a half smirk/smile.  “After she whooped my ass for you leaving, as a consolation prize.” There was an ounce of pain in her remark, which I didn’t think much of at the time, but I should have.

“Some gift…” I muttered, and that ended the conversation.

 

I say that Dee is complex because guys look at her and see this striking, tall, naturally pretty woman.  She acts so confident it knocks them on their ass.  She gets guys if she wants guys.  She plays pool like one of the guys, drinks like one of the guys… But my mind always goes back to that day in the car.  That slight tremble in her speech after she jokingly told me mom hit her after I went to college.  Mom had  hit her and not just like a smack on the cheek, she  beat her .  Mom was a mean drunk, we both knew that, but she had never treated Deanna like that until I’d left.  I only got the full story from a black-out-drunk Deanna Winchester who was throwing up into a toilet in a gas station, crying miserably, who didn’t remember a thing the next day.

But you’d  never assume that she’d dealt with that from meeting her.  You’d never guess she hated herself, or that the real reason she struts around without a speck of makeup is because she doesn’t care enough about her well-being to do anything else.

 

I wish  I could show her how everyone else sees her and teach her that she’s worth more than she thinks.  She’s done everything and more to protect me and raise me and keep me on the right track… I wish my favor to her could be giving her an ounce of confidence.


	6. Wigs and Bets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dee and Sammy work a case where Sam is "the bait".

Here's something no one knows about my little sister Sam: she hates change. Hates it. She will never admit it, she never has, but it’s true.

She cried for a week when mom had thoughts of buying a new car. Granted she was eight, but she's still the same way.

When I picked her up from Stanford she was like a lost puppy for a month straight because for some reason being away from me for a year had "changed" us both too much....

 

"Dee are you positive this is the best angle for his case?" I flicked my attention to her and away from my thoughts. She was coiling her hair up in a flat bun, a long platinum wig was waiting on the table.

"We have to figure out if this spirit is having post mortem relationship issues, Sammy."

"So I have to be the bait? Why me?"

"Because you're more the boyfriend's type."

"He cheated on her with a blonde Dee, and yet I'm more his type?"

I laughed and got up to help her pin the wig in place. "No but you're taller, that's more his type."

"You know I hate dressing up like this, I feel stupid."

The costumes had been her idea but shed quickly regretted her suggestion.

"I know, but relax."

Her big brown eyes flickered anxiously. Somehow her face looked so much more mature and yet so meek when you could really see her eyes. So often they were covered up, I always lost track of what a beautiful woman my little sister had turned into. I was always distracted by old childhood habits I always forgot about the here and now.

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Is there something on my face? Did my mascara smear?"

"No, no. I was just thinking..." _You've grown up so much Sammy..._ "You look good as a blonde."

"And you look terrible as a liar."

The case we were currently working was a possible vengeful spirit who was attacking all of his exgirlfriends.  So far one had died of a stab wound to the head, and the second had just barely made it out alive after he’d come at her with a candle stick.  There was a third ex who was fearful she was next, so we were going to camp out at her place and Sam was going to act as a bait girl.  The theory was that the haunting boyfriend, who had died while cheating on his fourth ex, might go after Sam because she looked like the girl he’d been cheating with.  Hopefully that would lure him away from his real target long enough for us to oust him.  

“If this goes south you owe me,” Sam grimaced, swiping lipstick on and pursing her lips.

“What’s the bet?”

“The bet?”

“Yeah, what do I owe you?  It won’t go south, but what’s the catch anyhow?”

She thought for a moment, “This goes south and you have to dye your hair brown.”

“That’s it?”  

Sam rolled her eyes, “I trust you, this isn’t going to backfire, so why not? It’s just a stupid bet.”

“Fine, fine, what do I get it if this doesn’t go south then?”

“The satisfaction that you were right, and I’m still living, with no candle stick in my forehead.”

“Yeah because that’s an even standard,” I laughed, helping her with her necklace clasp.

“Well then you choose something.”

“Fine, if this goes well, then I get to pick the diner we go to for the next month.”

She snorted, “Typical, but okay.”

We stood there laughing, appreciating the small talk, and suddenly if only for a moment things seemed right.  It didn’t feel like we were about to spend the night tracking down a murder, which was unusual.  It was a feeling I had missed for far too long.


End file.
